What are You, to Me?
by swift hunter
Summary: A collection of plot bunny drabbles that won't leave me alone. In no particular order and centered around numerous G1 characters. Chapter 6: part two of a three part mini-series.
1. Sunstreaker & Sideswipe

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of oneshots that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's mid battle musings.

Rating: K, for not that bad in spite of some horrid plot bunnies urging me to kill canon characters.

* * *

_"I am smiling because you are my brother. I am laughing because there is nothing you can do about it!" Unknown_

_  
_

"I was the one that stuck sprinkles to your back in the washracks." Sideswipe spluttered.

"WHAT!!!" Sunstreaker spat.

The yellow twin ground his jaw in barely repressed anger. He looked as though he might turn around and actually kill his brother. Those sprinkles had needed to be _sanded_ _off _because some aft-head had used superglue as the adhesive. He'd had half his body _mutilated_ before being stripped back to that hideous, nauseating metallic grey. Then he'd needed a full body re-spray. Even thinking about it now caused this indescribable _fury_ to bubble up within him.

And it was his _brother, his very brother, _who was responsible for his week of aesthetic hell?

He made a move towards Sideswipe, his free hand in a suspicious claw like position, almost as though he intended to throttle him, but Sunstreaker was interrupted when a blast of energy hit the rocks just above his head, showering him and his twin in dust and debris. The rage and annoyance faded from the yellow twin's face and form as he contemplated the true idiocy of bickering on the battlefield.

"I hardly think this is the appropriate place for a confession, Side's." He ground out instead.

"But believe me, if we make it out of this alive, we _will _be discussing this later." Sunstreaker threatened, a frustrated edge to his voice.

Sideswipe grinned disingenuously.

"Yay, _now_ I've something to look forward to." He sarcastically deadpanned.

Sunstreaker let it all settle in his processor for a moment before he shook his head in disbelief.

"Why…?"

The deafening roar of Sideswipe's grenades drowned out the rest of Sunstreaker's question. When the red twin was certain that the Decepticon that had been advancing on their dug out position, wasn't going to be standing any time soon, he turned back to his brother.

"Why what?" He asked while brushing some irritating dust from his audios.

Sunstreaker let a blast from his rifle sailing over Sideswipe's head where it collided with something out of his brother's line of sight. The blast made contact if the agonized shriek was to be believed.

"Why bother telling me now? We've been in worse than _this_."

Sidewipe turned his back on his brother and began volleying more grenades.

"Maybe." He calmly, seriously stated.

Sunstreaker laughed.

"What do you mean 'maybe'? What about the time that Prime took us on that infiltration mission with him and Jazz." He began laughing harder." And you…you got lost trying to find Starscream's room so you could plant that exploding _egg_ bomb? We were crawling round in those maintenance shafts for _days_ trying to find an exit. You telling me that _this_ is worse?" The gun practically began to slip from Sunstreaker's hands he was shaking so badly.

Sideswipe wasn't laughing. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't grinning.

In fact, his face had twisted itself into this sour, humourless mockery of its once jovial form.

Sunstreaker knew that look. Why? Well, it was _his_ look. It was so strange to see it on his brother's face.

He kept chuckling despite the murderous glare he was receiving.

"Or wait.." Sunstreaker actually doubled over. "What about the time that you dropped a grenade at your own feet?"

Sideswipe's face twitched now. A slow, awkward smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he remembered the ridiculous slip up. His brother, Sunstreaker, just couldn't stop laughing, thinking about how long Prime and the others had spent gathering up all the vital bits that Sideswipe blew off himself.

Sideswipe sighed, finally giving in.

"Oh yeah, well, what about you?"

Sunstreaker recovered himself briefly.

"Me?" He questioned.

Sideswipe smirked.

"Yeah, you _did _chase that one 'Con into a collapsing building. I mean, the whole thing was being held up by an invisible thread and not only do you go barging in, guns blazing, but you managed to run through every single, still standing wall in the place."

Sunstreaker stopped laughing and glared.

"It's funny how the building didn't collapse until after_ **you**_ decided you'd help by tossing in a few grenades." He argued in his defense.

Sideswipe let another grenade fly over their barricade. He covered the side of his face as it exploded, blowing a cloud of dust in on top of him. He coughed to clear his ventilation systems.

"Hey, you asked for my help!!" He pointed accusingly at Sunstreaker as he recovered.

Sunstreaker's engine started growling in irritation.

"I asked you for help. I didn't ask you to blow the place up with me in it." His gun arm convulsed.

Sideswipe started laughing again. Disbelief was written all over his face.

"You weren't seriously expecting me to follow you in _there_? The place was about to _collapse_."

Sunstreaker didn't respond to Sideswipe's last comment. Both Autobots grew silent.

"You hear that?" Sideswipe asked.

Sunstreaker grinned dangerously.

"Yeah, the gun fire's stopped."

Sideswipe sub-spaced his grenades and pulled out a lethal looking blaster.

"Did you get any orders to retreat, Sunny?"

Sunstreaker was brushing all variants of dust and rock off his armour casually.

"Not a peep, and my communications are up and functional." He answered nonchalantly.

Sideswipe smiled brightly rubbing his hands together.

"Brother, dearest, it looks like they missed us." He muttered cheerfully.

The only reason that the battle would end without word from the Prime of a Decepticon or an Autobot retreat was if Optimus or another officer weren't in a position to give that order. If the Prime was caught and the others weren't blasting their way through the levels of hell to free him, then they'd been killed or captured too.

"You ready, Sunshine?" Sideswipe queried.

For once Sunstreaker didn't argue over the nickname.

"Always, bro." He responded seriously before his face cracked into a feral grin.

Sideswipe pulled his blaster up till it was level with his helm. He mirrored his twin's, now predatory smile.

"Let's roll out."


	2. Rodimus & Springer

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of oneshots that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: Rodimus and Springer have a serious chat.

Rating: K, I was in a very good mood when I wrote this. Not a death or violent scene in sight.

Thanks goes out to my reviewers, **Jessie07**, **blood shifter** and **cmdrtekk**. Your comments were most appreciated!

* * *

_"I start with the premise that the function of leadership is to produce more leaders, not more followers" Ralph Nader _

"I think that sums up the mission rather nicely." Springer interjected near the end of his, somewhat biased, explanation to Rodimus.

The Prime in question was anything but pleased with the triple-changer's account of the events and having had an earful already of Ultra Magnus, he was in a rather foul mood. So much in fact that Rodimus Prime had gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to leave more than a small dent. Springer, if he concentrated, could hear the metal groan under the immense strain of the Prime's hands.

Rodimus' mouth pulled itself into a thin, harsh line.

"Yes…yes it does, doesn't it." He muttered, gaze still locked and starring at a fixed spot on the desk between himself and the triple-changer.

He brought his head up and locked optics with Springer. The green mech started fidgeting absently with his hands. The look that the fun-loving Prime was giving him, it was chilling. Springer wasn't one to shy away from a lecture, or run from any kind of blame, but the look on Rodimus' face was making him nervous. He was suddenly aware of just how _big _Rodimus was.

The Prime released the protesting desk with a great amount of visible difficulty. His hands seemed utterly lost without _something_to molest and maul. Springer noticed this and leaned back into his chair as far as he could go. It was doubtful that he'd be able to lean back far enough to avoid those hands if Rodimus decided to mangle him, but in his mind it was a necessary action. He would at least_ try_ to avoid an aft-kicking.

"Springer, can I ask you a question?" Rodimus spoke, breaking the silence that seemed to be eating it's way through Springer's nerves.

The triple-changer straightened himself in his seat.

"Sure."

Rodimus brought his hands together and placed them in a clasped position on his desk.

"Do I look stupid to you? Incompetent? An idiot, maybe?"

Springer, if it was even possible, paled.

"No Rodimus…absolutely not." He shot out quickly without any thought.

The Prime picked up the datapad he'd been reading prior to calling the triple-changer into his office.

"If you didn't think that my leadership was a complete joke and that I've the intelligence of Grimlock on a _very_ bad day, please, be so kind as to explain to me why you disobeyed _my_ orders, why you disobeyed _Magnus' _orders and why you went ahead, in spite of the orders against it, with a dangerous mission, leading to the serious injury of three of your comrades?" Rodimus looked to the triple-changer, eagerly awaiting an answer.

Springer stiffened defiantly.

"I made a spur of the moment call. There were too many Decepticons guarding the weapon. The original plan just wouldn't have worked." He reasoned.

Rodimus relaxed just a fraction but the edge never left his voice or his optics.

"Ultra Magnus told you exactly what to do in such a situation. In the unlikely event that the weapon was too heavily guarded, he ordered you to abandon the mission and withdraw. You, however, chose to ignore this order and as a _direct _result, Arcee, Swoop and Perceptor sustained avoidable and rather severe injury."

Springer felt himself grow angry. He made a heat of the moment call in a very difficult situation and now, he was getting chewed out by _Hot Rod_.

"With all due respect, _Prime_, we'd have been royally screwed if we'd tried to retreat with that weapon still up and operational. I made a call, the weapon was destroyed, we all got out alive. If you're gonna punish me for acting, then go right ahead."

Rodimus feigned a shocked expression.

"I don't think you understand me, Springer. I'm not lecturing you on the success of the mission. A few laser burns and ruptured fuel lines is a reasonable price to pay for that weapon's destruction. You acted like a leader out there, in a tricky situation as well."

Springer's posture shifted to display his confusion.

"Sir?" He questioned.

Rodimus placed the datapad in front of the triple-changer.

"Unfortunately, Ultra Magnus was the mission leader and you had absolutely _no authority_ to circumvent him and change the plan. Whether the mission was a success or not, you disobeyed a direct and clear order from a senior officer. That is totally unacceptable and as a result you're hereby on a three month suspension, effective immediately."

Springer jumped to his feet in protest but Rodimus held up his hand to silence him whilst he continued.

"I'm putting measures in place to make sure that a repeat of this _never_ happens again. I expect you to cooperate completely." The Prime looked beseechingly at Springer but there was a faint twinkle in the corner of his optics.

"Understood, sir." The triple-changer resigned himself.

Rodimus smiled.

"On that datapad is details of your promotion and expected conduct once you've been formally promoted to senior staff. You showed an amazing insight in the field and true leadership abilities. Not to mention the fact that due to your unusual tactics, not only was the mission a total success, but all the members of the team made it out in one piece. With this upgrade in rank, you'll be in a position to oversee all mission plans and should the need arise, you can make mid-mission amendments without consultation. However, I do advise taking _all_ of Ultra Magnus' suggestions and orders seriously. He's still your superior and if he thinks you've been abusing this new power, he _will_ demote you."

Springer had picked up the datapad, barely half listening to Rodimus as he rushed through the formal legalities littering the rather wordy details of the promotion.

It took several seconds for the sheer unbelievable fact to sink through his processor.

When it did finally get processed as a hard fact, he found himself at a total loss for words. The triple-changer tried to think of something memorable to say, something clever or witty, but came up short. The best he could manage and on the risk of looking stupid, he forced out an automated 'thank you, sir'. It was clear that whatever he'd imagined happening at this debriefing, getting a suspension followed by a promotion was _not _one of them.

Rodimus stood up and offered Springer his hand. The hand was in midair for almost a minute before Springer noticed it and gave it a brisk, uncertain shake.

"Good luck!!" Rodimus added with somewhat devious smile.

Springer stood routed to the spot. The Prime looked like he was desperately trying to hold back a chuckle or two.

"Ahhemm…you're dismissed, Springer."

Springer nodded absently and almost walked into the wall on his way out, he was so engrossed in the datapad.

Rodimus now felt glad of the triple-changer's suspension…the poor mech might just need that to get over the shock of all this. The Prime chuckled when the doors closed behind Springer. It was then he noticed the finger shaped dents in his new desk.

"Not again!" Rodimus whined.

The shrill beeping on the office intercom, that could only be Ultra Magnus looking for details on how Springer took the news, made the Prime stiffen.

"Second desk this month...Mags is gonna have my aft this time." He sighed before answering the call.


	3. Kup & Arcee

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of oneshots that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: Kup and Arcee share a fluffy-ish moment.

Rating: T, for some plot bunnies that urged me to hurt canon characters. Minor gore ahead.

Thanks goes out to my reviewers, **Jessie07**, **blood shifter**, **cmdrtekk and flamingmarsh**. If you've ever seen a tall, clumsy person, totally without rhythm, do a happy dance. That's me at the moment.

I know I'm like some sort of person possessed with all these oneshots. I really shouldn't be typing so much with my repetitive strain but for some reason every time I turn my laptop on, I start writing.

* * *

_"The only sure thing about luck is that it will change." Wilson Mizner _

"Don't move, damn it!!" Kup snarled half-heartedly.

His arms were elbow deep in Arcee's midsection as he struggled to clamp the damaged fuel line. The bright glow of leaking energon pooling around them, spoke to his lack of success.

"Can't help it…feels weird." She muttered in response.

Kup's expression changed rapidly from desperate worry to sickened despair.

"No pain?" He hesitantly asked her.

The ability to speak seemed to momentarily leave her and she could only nod once in response to his question.

"Primus damn it, what in the name were yah thinkin', taking on Cyclonus? I've been hit with far worse…" He seemed about to launch into one of his 'back in the day' stories but lost all the will to speak as he was struck with a wave of shame and guilt.

He really should have been able to dodge that shot. Any rookie fresh from the academy would have managed the feat. Of course, Kup had visions of some clumsy leaps and show-off cartwheels but they wouldn't have frozen like he did. As much as he'd tried convincing himself otherwise, he really was getting too old for this type of front-line assault. For the love of Primus, old injuries and wearing parts made him falter _right _in front of Cyclonus' rifle. He was more than positive that that shot would have killed him outright had Arcee not foolishly thrown herself at the gun. The look on Cyclonus' face made one thing certain as he'd made to permanently offline the old mech; the Decepticon hadn't expected to be tackled by several tons of shocking pink Autobot. Rightly so, Arcee was a distance fighter. She kept out of the claws of the big mechs and picked 'Cons off like ripe fruit in an orchard. She rarely ever did the close combat dance, though, looking at the damage she inflicted on Cyclonus you'd never tell. His injuries were nothing to joke about. She'd slashed and shot and punched and kicked every square inch of him she'd access too. If that Decepticon wasn't still finding dents from her aft-kicking in seventy vorns time, Kup would be shocked.. but then he'd heard that horrid sound. That spark twisting, single shot that rang out above all the other sounds of battle and he watched Arcee be just cast aside like a giant, limp, pink doll. The Con had cast a satisfied optic to his handiwork before shakily transforming and taking to the skies after Galvatron. The old Autobot had no idea why the femme had so casually risked her life for him. He was ancient among Cybertronians, he'd lived a _long_ existence, fought in more battles than could be counted and was undoubtedly coming towards the day when he would just cease to function with excessive age.

That would be an amazing death to hold to in a time of war. Not to pass from gunfire or enemy weapons, but to pass on of natural causes and unavoidable wear.

He just couldn't understand why she'd been so ready, so eager to sacrifice her future to give him what limited time he'd left. It was no dishonour to die…especially at his age. Death for him wasn't something he feared.

She somehow found the energy to speak.

"That…I'd live…" She garbled out, coughing up energon in the process.

It took Kup a few moments to realise that she was answering his earlier question.

He smiled sombrely.

"You sound certain o' that." He whispered.

She greeted his sober smile with a warm, effortless one of her own.

"I…am …had worse than this." She held his gaze with steady and unwavering optics.

Kup knew she was lying. Arcee was too fast to get nailed with a shot like this and at close range no less. She was eqiupped with a sharp intelligence and an agility to rival Jazz'. On the battlefield, she was untouchable.

And she still would be if he hadn't become virtually useless in his old age.

A single thought crept into his mind, that the one bleeding to death should have been him, not her.

He strained his hand in further but it was no use.

He just couldn't reach the damage. It was the inescapable truth of this dire situation he found himself in. No matter what he did, his fingers just couldn't move past the charred, melted armour that had collapsed inward from the shot. The armour cut him off from the fuel line that seemed to haemorrhage at an alarmingly consistent rate. Energon drenched his hands and made the movements of his fingers seem like a slippery scramble as they fought to pry their way to the line. First Aid was on his way, but at the present rate he would be too late.

Kup held back a choked and frustrated sob as he remembered clearly the number of times he'd prayed to Primus for a miracle on the battlefield and even clearer still the times his plea had been heard and granted.

He prayed now for another miracle. Just one more. She couldn't die, she just couldn't. It was unfair to take her life and allow him to continue. He begged and pleaded with no-one visible to help him, to spare her.

Arcee convulsed and his hands almost got caught between transformation cogs before he knew what was happening. The femme's whole body arched off the ground before twisting itself at what was surely as uncomfortable as it was an awkward angle. Something had randomly sparked inside her triggering this involuntary action. He noticed it then. It was a gap, just a tiny space that had opened up as parts moved around during her seizure.

He felt the pieces begin to try and move back into their original, rather unhelpful position and he gratefully seized the opportunity that had been given to him. He stuck two large fingers through that gap and began feeling around for the line. Parts began to crush his hand painfully but he paid them no attention as he found was he was looking for and clamped two dented fingers around the leak.

He let out a sigh in relief when he heard her fuel pump regain its normal, easy flowing rhythm.

He looked up to the darkening sky and openly thanked Primus for giving him just one more miracle.

She was still looking at him, still smiling when First Aid joined them on the field and expertly located the damage, patching it temporarily.

Kup gripped his half crushed hand absently as she was prepared for loading into the transformed ambulance.

She let loose a hoarse laugh.

"Told you…" She croaked, one hand snaking from her position to gently grip his damaged hand. Her own silent thank you.

Kup relaxed knowing she'd be alright…and he brightened upon realizing why she'd been so calm, so knowing. She had faith in him, absolute, unfaltering trust. It was an amazing feeling and at the same time frightening.

He felt a cold shiver creep up underneath his armour as he imagined the day when Primus suddenly decided that the old mech had already had his last miracle.


	4. Optimus, Ratchet & Prowl

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of oneshots that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: Prowl ends up on the receiving line of some devious scheme concocted by Optimus and Ratchet.

Rating: T, for nothing other than Ratchet's temper.

* * *

_"__The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity.__" Harlan Ellison_

"_What?_" Prowl shook his head as though something were interfering with his hearing.

It was the only way he could explain the nonsense he'd just heard come out of the Prime's mouth.

Optimus seemed shockingly calm about it and nodded his head slowly. Reaffirming Prowl's suspicions, much to the tactician's vexation.

"You heard me, Prowl and I mean it." He said with the utmost seriousness.

"Optimus, you must be joking. You are the Prime. What about duty?" The tactician pleaded desperately.

Prowl did instantly realize what a mistake it had been to mention such dangerous words as 'duty' to Optimus. The Prime carried the lives and future of all of Cybertron on his broad shoulders and had been doing so for a long time already. This was probably the very reason the tactical officer was having such a hard time wrapping his logic processor around the Prime's words.

Prowl stalled momentarily, he could actually feel his logistics centre begin heating rapidly as it climbed it's way towards a full systems crash.

The Prime just calmly stared back in that infuriatingly understanding way. From the look on his face he was either humouring Prowl, genuinely felt that he was absolutely correct or had done it all to see how riled up he could get the tactician before safeties kicked in and forced the poor mech offline. Prowl was struggling to hold onto his sanity and temper.

Optimus motioned his hands in a slow and placating way indicating silently that Prowl cease his frantic pacing.

"I really don't see the problem, Prowl"

Oh, boy.

Prowl's entire body twitched.

The tactician mouthed the words 'no problem?' before a series of sparks flickered about his head in a very familiar way and his optics dimmed.

The Prime winced as Prowl passed out and fell. Optimus just couldn't get around his desk fast enough to prevent the collision between the black and white mech's head and the cold floor. The Prime crouched down and tilted the mech's head to the side to view the rather nasty looking dent now present in the back of it.

The Prime retreated to his desk and opened a direct link to the med-bay. Ratchet seemed to be expecting the intrusion. As was easily distinguishable by the lack of cursing and gruff, exasperated questioning.

"Is he out yet?" The medic quietly asked. Optimus glanced back over Prowl's prone form as though making absolutely sure.

"It does appear so, however, he may have collided with the floor when he fell." Prime winced again as he heard a loud metallic bang. It sounded as though the CMO just hit something.

"Exactly what do you mean by 'may have', Optimus? How in the Pit did he manage to fall out of the chair?" There was no immediate answer as the Prime looked into the distance guiltily. He knew there was something he'd been forgetting. A hoarse sounding Ratchet made an odd sounding cough to grasp back the Prime's attention.

"Optimus, I'm waiting on your elaboration. _Patiently_." Optimus could almost _feel_ the glare from the med-bay.

He still couldn't bring himself to say anything. In situations such as this, words spoken usually only served to dig a mech's grave that much deeper.

"He was standing, wasn't he, Prime!!" Optimus offlined his optics and cut audio perception in half, in preparation for the sound.

"YOU FRAGGING, GLITCHED UP EXCUSE FOR A SOON-TO-BE WALKING TRASH COMPACTOR." Even at half sound, Optimus' audios rang shrilly.

"You wanted that stubborn glitch to take a break and you asked for my help. I ask you to make sure of ONE THING, PRIME!!! One Primus damned thing. Do you possibly remember what that was?"

"Make sure he's sitting before you offline him." The Prime calmly deadpanned.

Ratchet's loud feet could be heard pacing the med-bay in the background only to stop abruptly.

"Optimus, of all the stupid things you've ever done over the years, this is possibly one of the most ridiculous lapses in common sense I've ever seen you display." The medic sighed.

"If you'd been using the part of your processor that mattered, Prowl could have just been brought to his quarters and deposited on his berth for some needed recharge, but now, NOW, he might be waking up in my med-bay. Now, I can trust you won't be so stupid as to have Grimlock sit on him while he's out, so stay put and I'll be up in a minute to assess the extent of the unnecessary damage." Optimus let his rigid posture relax but the medic wasn't done.

"Just so you know, if he _does_ need treatment, you'll be the one to explain all this to him... and for the record, Prime, this is going on the wall" He spat musically.

Optimus groaned silently.

The wall was Ratchet's way of keeping tabs on all the stupid stuff the Ark crew put themselves in the med-bay for. It also happened to be right outside on the main corridor were everyone could see. As far as the Prime was aware, he was the only one not on it. Half the corridor was otherwise taken up with still images the CMO had captured of the mechs during recovery and where an image couldn't be taken, a very detailed description in Wheeljack's permanent marker took it's place.

The Prime glanced down at the unconscious tactician and shook his head.

_Of all the stubborn…_

Surely there were better ways of forcing the mech to take his scheduled breaks.


	5. Captured Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of plot bunnies that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: This is part one of a little mini story (3 parts) revolving around a captive group of Autobots held by a Decepticon OC and stuck on an organic planet during a monsoon. (slashy if you get a magnifying glass and squint really, _really_ hard.)

Rating: T, for the less humorous side of war.

* * *

"_Clay. It's rain, dead leaves, dust, all my dead ancestors. Stones that have been ground into sand. Mud. The whole cycle of life and death." Martine Vermeulen_

The heavy stench of energon and damp earth assaulted his senses. Small trickling streams of the vital fluid, mingled with the growing pools of watery clay gathering around his knees. The rain beat heavily against his armour.

It was so cold out. How anything survived in such conditions would always be a mystery to him but yet it did. It fought against all odds and difficulties to survive. Amazing.

He spared two glances to his side and took note of the condition of the others. All of them were in the same bleeding, dented, decrepit state. His scanners took note of the injuries to his comrades. There was a major hydraulics injury for the mech directly to his right, a nasty looking open gash to the side and shoulders for the mech beside that and what looked like optic damage from a direct blow to the face, for the mech on his immediate left. They were all crippling injuries. Not life threatening as far as he could tell, but none of them were in any fit state to escape. The mech with the hydraulics damage would need to be carried at the very least. As it was, he was only being held up by his neighbour.

This was all a nightmare. A horrid dream he just couldn't wake himself out of. He cycled air quickly. His own systems reported very minor damage. A small rupture in a secondary fuel line, a crack in the armour here, a lodged chunk of _something _organic in a few joints; it was nothing worrying. He'd recover. Already his auto-repair systems were up and running. It would only be a few hours before efficiency was back in the ninety-percentile range. He was damn lucky. The other Autobots that had been captured couldn't say the same.

The most demanding of the injuries would be the open gash to the red mech. The 'bot was bleeding heavily whilst still taking the full weight of the mech beside him. Unprecedented with such an injury but if the 'Cons knew how bad the hydraulics injury was, they might be inclined to just kill the Autobot rather than bother with him. The red mech was holding his companion's body upright concealing the extent of the 'bot's immobility. You could clearly see a pair of red knees sinking deeply into the mud under such extreme weight.

He focused his optics as much as he could in an attempt to get a clearer view of the wound. The jagged cut was deep. So much that it exposed inner wiring and sensitive cables to the cold water that was running right in. It made him wince even thinking about the agony that such a wound would cause. The red mech stayed absolutely silent though.

Silent and still.

He'd managed to crane his neck a little further to the side to get a better view but a shadow fell on him from out of his visual range. There wasn't time to turn around before something collided painfully with the side of his head and sent him sprawling, face first out of the line-up.

The mud covered his optics and his chassis sank a good two feet into the slick, icy muck. He dragged his limbs under himself and slowly pushed himself back up; the suction releasing a wet clapping sound as he broke himself free and returned to his kneeling position. A set of red eyes bore into his and he scowled hatefully back at them.

The 'Con grinned. Obviously enjoying his new-found source of entertainment, he scooped up a great big handful of the slop and planted his hand firmly over the Autobot's head, letting more of it slide down previously mud free panels.

"Suits yah!" The 'Con said gleefully.

The Decepticon laughed stupidly at his own antics and the Autobot could see the other 'Cons shake their heads dispassionately. It seemed to be a unanimous verdict that this Decepticon was dumb, even among the members of his own faction.

The moron repeated this mud covering process several more times as the continual rain succeeded in washing the worst of it away. The caked Autobot couldn't bring himself to look up and witness his humiliation, so he focused his optics on the ground.

Time passed slowly, marked only by the occasional chuckle of his tormentor and the grumbling of the Decepticons in the background.

It was the immediate silence of the other Decepticons and the vibrating ripples in the surface of the mud that heralded the arrival of a very tall, rather intimidation Decepticon to the captive Autobots. Dark wet stains, fresh energon and laser burns covered the blue 'Con's torso and legs, though he walked without any outward shows of injury. The behemoth casually strode right through the crowds of onlookers and they parted for him without a squeak or a protest.

The soft sounds of liquid earth under enormous feet alerted their tormentor to his superior's presence. He ceased his previous task of roughly smearing every inch of the captured mech's surface with the cold, energon tainted filth, and lifted his optics to meet his commander's disapproving gaze.

The idiot 'Con didn't move quick enough to prevent the strike that his superior belted him with. The blow looked more like a gentle tap but the force was enough to knock the dark green Decepticon off his feet. He landed on his side and received a swift kick for good measure before he scrambled off to the sounds of his comrade's jeering laughter.

The enormous Decepticon looked down the line of captured mechs before bringing his attention to the mech in front of him that was absently trying to scrape the thick caking mud off his hands. The rain only did so much to rinse away the gunk lodged in small joints.

"You're their medic." The 'Con announced gruffly. The booming sound of his voice sent odd sensations up the Autobot's armour. It wasn't a question.

The medic held his head up as far as he could and met the face of the Decepticon commander, dead on.

"Yes, I am Ratchet." He answered coldly; expectantly waiting for whatever horror this doomed conversation was leading too.

"Ratchet?" The 'Con repeated slowly. He looked a little surprised but covered it so quickly it could have been mistaken as a trick of the optics or attributed to the sudden flash of lightning.

He grinned at Ratchet, then. A slow, serpentine smile slithered across his face as the facts truly registered. Ratchet was the Autobot's _chief_ medic.

The Decepticon laughed then. Ratchet's audios buzzed with the noise as the large 'Con reached down and lifted him to his feet via some shoulder plating and without any visible strain. Even standing, Ratchet barely made it past the 'Con's waist.

The Decepticon leaned forward a little, bending over Ratchet ever so slightly. He was so tall his form actually blocked out the rain that was very slowly taking the brown sludge from the medic's face.

"You're very lucky. I'm usually not in the business of taking prisoners…" He roughly plucked Ratchet off his feet with one impossibly large hand and brought him to eye level as though examining him. At close range the smile was almost demonic. "…but I think I might just have a use for a medic." He purred.

The 'Con turned his head towards the other Decepticons and with a sinister grin, uttered three words that froze the fuel in the medic's lines.

"Kill the rest."


	6. Captured Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. It would be great if I did...but alas.

General Summary: This is just a collection of plot bunnies that I'm regularly attacked with. I usually let them go, but I figured I should treat them kindly so they might leave me alone in the future.

Summary: This is part two of a little mini story (3 parts) revolving around a captive group of Autobots held by a Decepticon OC and stuck on an organic planet during a monsoon.

Rating: T, for the less humorous side of war.

* * *

"_Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.__" Gandhi_

"Don't you dare!!!"

Everything stilled.

It's quite extraordinary how so many different moving parts and individuals can stall, almost at exactly the same time and produce virtually identical looks in reaction to something as small as three whispered, broken words.

The sight of so many 'Con's stopping dead in their tracks and mirroring looks of shock, apprehension and horror, cut a cold, foreboding path through Ratchet's CPU. Such concern worried Ratchet. After all,_ he'd _spoken, so why were these 'Con's so worried all of a sudden? He was certain they weren't concerned over _his_ well-being.

As a torrent of questions raced through his mind, the medic felt the grip around his torso tighten. The sudden, sharp pressure was sufficient enough to produce an uncontrollable shriek in response. His hands immediately sought a way to pry open the massive fingers, but the digits were impossibly strong. Pain began to leech all his strength.

The agony of being slowly crushed was unimaginable.

"Medic, that _almost_ sounded like a threat." The enormous 'Con whispered darkly bringing the medic so close to his face that Ratchet would have been able to reach out and punch him right in the optic. That was if Ratchet had been stupid…or suicidal.

The two Autobots, the ones that could still see, were transfixed at the scene playing out right in front of them. They were watching a senior officer be literally crushed to death and all they could do was squeak in protest. The red Autobot looked about ready to speak but a harsh, sideways glance from the medic took the words from his mouth before he said them.

Blue eyes turned back to the brightest red.

"What…if it was?" Ratchet managed to croak between gasps. His face stiff and dental plates ground together in defiance.

The 'Con started laughing again. It was a deep, humourless, disbelieving boom. The violent chuckle jarred Ratchet up and down in a vice like grip.

The blue Decepticon turned to face the others. Ratchet could barely make out the faintest of whispers and snorts ebbing meekly from the crowd. The rain was falling harder than ever and was now accompanied by a strong, seemingly directionless wind.

"It seems that this little medic here is actually _threatening_ me." More pressure was applied to Ratchet and his loud yelp was accompanied by the audible, groaning sound of metal buckling under merciless black fingers.

Someone in the crowd forced a laugh, probably thinking that they were required to respond in some way. The blue 'Con stopped talking and frowned. In the background there was a very distinguishable sound of metal colliding on metal and a muffled moan soon after. Satisfied that there would be no more interruptions, the Decepticon continued, this time addressing Ratchet. The grip around his damaged chassis lessoned marginally, allowing the medic to respond without screaming.

"So, _medic_, exactly what would a pathetic little 'bot like you find to threaten me with? Are you planning to _disgust_ me into deactivation?" He sneered at the medic's dirt covered form.

Ratchet felt something sharp, prod something incredibly sensitive inside his chest but couldn't ascertain what it was. The mistreatment had already begun to take its toll on his weary form: sensory overload had knocked his scanners offline. He bit down the urge to make any kind of pained sound; responding to the Decepticon with as much bravado as he could fake and force out convincingly.

If he didn't do something _now,_ his comrades were dead.

"You kill them, then you'd better kill me." Ratchet noted the stark silence of stunned, fearful 'Cons and the expression of rapidly escalating anger on the face of his captor.

The fingers around his mid-section twitched and he knew their commander was seriously toying with the idea of popping him open like an organic insect. Crushing him without a thought. This Decepticon had an obviously lethal temper. The Autobot wagered threatening him wasn't the wisest thing he'd ever done.

Ratchet softened his words.

"You say… you have a use for me. Fine, I'll do whatever you need, just don't harm the others." He pleaded.

There was a moment when death looked almost certain. Just something flashing across the optics of the 'Con commander. A sparkle of reckless abandon. That urge to kill in the most violent and brutal way imaginable and to the Pit with the consequences.

But the look passed as quickly as it came.

The blue Decepticon glared impassively as he fully considered the proposal; his hand applying more and more pressure to the medic as he did so. Ratchet screamed as he felt several supports began bending but it was only when he heard the clatter from inside his chest that he knew something truly terrible had occurred. From the look of the 'Con's slowly returning grin, he'd been waiting on that sound. The grip relaxed instantly, earning a shudder of absolute relief from Ratchet. The medic ached in so many places he wasn't sure he'd ever stop hurting.

"Your generous offer is accepted. You do exacly as I say and your little friends get to continue functioning. You disobey me and they die in the most twisted way I can think of... and while you, dear medic, get to watch. " The 'Con smiled as sweetly as he could whilst in possession of a face forged in the Pit itself.

He dropped Ratchet back into the mud and looked down on him as nameless enemy faces came and dragged the others away, to where, Ratchet couldn't see. The medic lay in a tangled heap of abused and twisted metal for several moments before doggedly dragging himself up to his knees once more.

The look of absolute smugness on the blue transformer's face made Ratchet wish he were back in that death-grip so he could smack that expression right off.

The Decepticon tried to look innocent.

"I may be mistaken…" He put his hands behind his back and rocked forwards on his feet till he was again towering over the Autobot. Truth be told, he looked utterly ridiculous considering his height and rank."...but it sounds like a transforming cog slipped. How unfortunate…but it looks like you won't be going anywhere, anytime soon." He laughed then as Ratchet took a moment to sink into the mud in despair. The medic shakily realised the commander was right. It _did_ sound like a slipped cog. However, without his scanners that type of precision damage wouldn't show up on internal monitors.

Seconds passed before Ratchet could swallow his anger and utter contempt for the 'Con. He'd very little hate within him, even for the enemy, but how much he hated this individual right now. With all his cantankerous being, he hated him.

But that was before the realization of just what he'd committed himself too, fully struck him.

He'd just made a deal with a Decepticon. He would be _working_, for a _'Con_.

It was treason. There was no garnishing it, no denying it. Even if the cost was the lives of his comrades, which wasn't necessarily guaranteed, the territory he'd just entered was enough to relieve him of his rank and if convicted, possibly his life. Primus knew he'd fragged off a lot of influential mechs that would jump at the chance of smearing his good name.

Not that they needed to do anything...he was now officially a traitor, in the eyes of the law.

Honestly, that single notion hurt him more than anything. Even if the Prime pardoned him, the others would still know. Echoes of accusation and suspicions flew around the medic's cortex. Every decision he'd ever made would be questioned. Every life he failed to save would become sinister and purposeful in the minds of the masses. He'd never be trusted enough to perform his duty.

But what could he have done? They'd all have been killed, right there, half sunk in the contaminated waters of a backwater mudball if he hadn't done what he did. He shuddered. On any normal day he'd have gladly risked his life in the call of duty, he'd have easily sacrificed himself. But this was more than his life; this was his reputation, his very memory, the trust his comrades had in him.

Would he be willing to sacrifice everything he had and was, for individuals he barely knew?

It was then that he realized he already had. Even if it cost him everything, it was his job to save lives. If the penalty was the label of traitor, then so be it, because those three injured Autobots were going home. One way or another. They were now his priority: his responsibility. Without contemplating all the consequences of his actions, he'd already made his choice.

Ratchet gathered himself up a little further. Straightening his back was a herculean effort as armour had been bent in ways contrary to the movement. A particularly large dent popped back out as he finally managed it.

"What is it… that you want me to do?" He whimpered. Defeated and yet resolved.

The 'Con's face twisted itself into an image that burned it's way through the medic's optics and straight into his CPU. He'd witnessed the medic's very world be twisted and warped beyond a two-dimensional Autobot's ability to comprehend and the commander's face was jovial because of it.

Ratchet knew from that day onwards that he would never forget that smile, that look of malice…or the air of utter insanity that radiated from this Decepticon.

"Oh, you'll see soon enough. Let's just say I love surprises." He 'Con whispered.

Two more Decepticons appeared from the darkness and dragged a limp Ratchet into the night.

He didn't fight them.


End file.
